


We'll Be the Stars

by Elpidios



Category: The Maze Runner Series - James Dashner
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Awesome Aris Jones, Awesome Minho, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, I Do NOT Ship Trenda, Kinda?, M/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Suicidal Thoughts, The Author Regrets Everything, The Author Regrets Nothing, The Death Cure Spoilers, Thomas needs a hug
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-25
Updated: 2016-06-25
Packaged: 2018-04-01 04:31:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,282
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4005946
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elpidios/pseuds/Elpidios
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Thomas looks at the constellations—scattered on the canvas of the night sky as if they were sprinkled mindlessly. Yet, each detail is delicately crafted, so far from careless.</p><p>Life hurts. Life kills. Life mends. Life heals.</p>
            </blockquote>





	We'll Be the Stars

**Author's Note:**

> First fic in this fandom or on AO3 for the matter. Together with the fact that my mother language is not English. Yeah, this prolly sucks. Anyways, feedback is always welcome. And sorry if it is weird 'cause I kinda mixed the plot of the book and that of the movie.

_“The name’s Newt.”_

 

_“Be thankful for these walls.”_

 

_“Great, we are all bloody inspired.”_

 

_“The Glue?”_

 

_“Call them subjects again and I’ll break you bloody neck.”_

 

_“Thank you for being my friend.”_

 

_"KILL ME! If you've ever been my friend, kill me!"_

 

**_"Please, Tommy. Please."_ **

 

Thomas is sitting on his bed—has been sitting there for days. He locks himself in his room, ignoring his friends’ calling for him. (Just, thank goodness for the en suite bathroom.)

 

He has been in Paradise for four months, barely living off meals brought into his room by Minho, who, well, has a key, but is kind enough to not abuse the trust, and only brings in simple bread and soup twice a day.

 

“Do you think he’s gonna come out here?” Frypan asks Minho this time.

 

“He hasn’t moved ever since he came here. He has like a dozen of water bottles packs in his room. Not coming soon, dude, if he’s ever coming out.”

 

In fact, Thomas really is probably never going to go out of his room. Thomas has no purpose now. He has never been able to stop and think about his real purpose ever since he woke up in the Glade. Survival—he was only able to focus on that. And back then, it was kind of enough.

 

Yet, now, when he lives in peace, when he does not have to constantly run for his life, he thinks—a lot, or too much, really.

 

_“I hated every second of every day, and it was all your fault!”_

 

He has wronged every body he knows and loves. The Glade was his fault. The Maze was his fault. WICKED was his fault. Chuck’s death was his fault. Teresa’s death was his fault.

 

Newt’s death was his fault.

 

When he saw the tattoo on Newt’s neck, he thought Newt was the glue holding the Galders together. Well, maybe that is true too. But only now does Thomas realise, that Newt is—was— the glue holding _his_ life together.

 

When he first came to the Glade, he was a lost soul wandering, not knowing what to do. But Newt showed him around. When he was supposed to be banished for running into the Maze, what Newt decided to do was only to put him in the pit. When he nearly lost his mind in the Scorch, Newt’s presence always calmed him. When he felt like his entire world is crumbling, just Newt’s smile alone made him feel as if the world was okay again.

 

_Now_ he knows what it feels like when his entire world is crumbling. The moment he stopped running for his life is the moment when he realised, truly, clearly, too definitely and concretely, that he has killed Newt.

 

It feels, just, bad. Even when Newt was with the Cranks and suffering, he could still think that maybe they really would find a cure, that maybe it was all just a cruel practical joke that WICKED made, that maybe it was just yet another trial, that maybe there was some misunderstanding or something—that maybe Newt would come back for some reasons. There was hope, he guesses. But now, that little spark of hope is extinguished by none other than himself. And it feels hopeless, dark, and kind of heavy.

 

Paradise is good, yeah, real good. But not a second passes here without Thomas remembering Newt, then grieving, weeping, and mourning.

 

Dinner is over. Just as Minho takes Thomas’ bread and soup, Gally stops him, “Gimme the keys.”

 

Gally knocks, “Thomas, I’m coming in.”

 

Thomas does not bother to answer.

 

“Hey, you shank, hanging in there buddy?” Gally asks, which is, well, kind of him. He has changed a lot since he came to Paradise.

 

“Here’s your dinner.”

 

Thomas simply nods.

 

“Agh. Why do I even bother? Here’s the thing, you’re gonna listen to me, alright?”

 

Thomas nods again.

 

“I was brainwashed by WICKED, you remember? I,” he swallowed, “I killed Chuck.”

 

Memories came flowing back to Thomas. The little doll Chuck gave him. The promise he made to Chuck. The sacrifice Chuck made for him.

 

Holy crap, he has been so focused on the new wound he forgot to mend the old one.

 

“Anyways, I have never been known for knowing how to deal with emotions. But this lady at the Right Hand, a therapist, I guess. She told me to write everything down. It did help. So… If you want to try it out, then feel free,” Gally says, “Look, whatever that’s bugging you, just write it down, it will help. Trust me.”

 

The notebook was leather-clad. Simple and classic, yet beautiful.

 

Gally sets the notebook and pen down on Thomas’ bed, “I guess I’ll go then.”

 

Just as Gally reaches the door, Thomas speaks, barely audible, but loud enough for Gally to hear, “Thanks, Gally.”

 

Gally just gives him a genuine smile.

 

Later that night, Thomas decides to get out of bed and actually goes out of his room. He takes the notebook and pen with him, and walks towards the cliff in Paradise.

 

He somehow vaguely remembers loving the stars when he was young. And he absolutely clearly remembers loving the star when he was stargazing at the Glade with Newt.

 

“ _Tommy, do you know which one of the stars is the brightest?_ ”

 

_“No idea.”_

 

_“Sirius. The brightest star is called Sirius.”_

 

Now that Thomas thinks about it, it’s ironic. Newt was his Sirius. That brightest star he could see anywhere. That light that gives him hope when even the moon abandons him.

 

Newt was so bright, and Thomas was so dull, but Thomas has somehow killed that light. Well, the brightest star always fades the fastest, perhaps.

 

Thomas looks at the constellations—scattered on the canvas of the night sky as if they were sprinkled mindlessly, and yet, with each detailed delicately crafted, are far from careless.

 

The nostalgic feeling—Déjà vu. The stars are still the same, but people have changed, and lives have bee changed.

 

Thomas was foolish. He thought he had time with Newt. He thought that maybe they could have their happily ever after when they get out of the Maze. He thought that they might be able to live a fairytale ending when they finished the Trials. He never once thought that Newt’s death would be on his own hands.

 

The could-have-beens and would-have-beens rush through his mind: What if he had not tell anyone to leave the Glade? (A/N: Assuming it is like the movies and they actually had a choice.) What if he did not help with the experiment? What if he had not gone into that stupid Maze and found a way out? What if he did not kill Newt?

 

Remembering what Gally said, he opens the notebook and scribbles.

 

_Dear Newt,_

 

_Sorry. Thank you. Please forgive me. I was so stupid. I was a shucking slinthead. I was so full of myself. Please come back. Come back to me, love._

 

_What they say is probably right: You never realise what you have until you’ve lost it. Maybe you are busy looking at some stupid stars, when all of a sudden, you realise you’ve lost the freaking moon._

 

After a moment of consideration, he adds a line.

 

_P.S. I love you._

 

_Love always and forever,_

_Tommy_

 

 

He bites on his lower lip, trying his best to hold back tears. Crying is for the victim. He is not the victim. He is the murderer.

 

Thomas closes the notebook. Gally is right, but wrong. Writing it down does make Thomas feel better. He feels as if the notebook is some sort of listener who will not judge, and will simply listen. After all, he ain’t got the balls to admit to anyone that he killed Newt. But at the same time, writing it down also makes it real. It means actually admitting that he killed Newt, and visualising the whole thing does nothing but make him feel even worse.

 

What would happen if he actually talked to Minho, though? Maybe Minho will punch him in the face. Maybe Minho will let him go with smashed privates. Maybe Minho will dismember him. Maybe Minho will kill me. Good, Thomas thought, he deserves all those things.

 

But hopefully Minho will forgive him. Thomas has lost everyone. He only has Minho left. He does not want to lose that too. But Thomas feels guilty about it, too. He is not worth Minho’s time, nor is he worth his care.

 

He looks at the stars. Ah, how he wishes Newt was here to lie here with him.

 

A voice says in his head, “or vice versa. You could go to him.”

 

Can he? He is lying right next to a sodding cliff for goodness’ sake. He could always jump off. But should he?

 

He thinks Minho will understand. But Minho will lose every single one of his best friend then. Thomas is not so certain how Minho will deal.

 

He stands up silently, walking back to the main building in Paradise.

 

He collapse on the bed once he reaches his room.

 

Tonight, he dreams. He dreams about the would-have-beens. He sees swimming pools, and living rooms, and aeroplanes; he sees a little house on the hill, and children’s name; he see quiet nights poured over ice and Tanqueray.

 

But everything is shattering, and it is his mistake.(Troye Sivan—FOOLS)

 

When he wakes, he weeps again.

 

The next morning, he rises as the sun does so. He takes a shower, remembering that last shower before they went into the Scorch. He washes his hair, and he takes the shower gel, scrubbing his hands furiously, as if hoping it would erase the smell of gunpowder on his hands. Even though there has never really been a smell on his hands, the smell still suffocates him.

 

When he comes to the main room for breakfast, he sits quietly down, with Minho on his right; and Gally his right.

 

Both of them are not surprised, really. Rather, they are worried.

 

Days go by. It’s getting better now. He talks to Minho. He talks to Gally. He talks to Sonya sometimes, and Frypan, too. Every morning, he wakes. Every day, he laughs. But every night, he grieves. The mornings and days are for his friends. But the nights are reserved for Newt, sometimes Chuck and Teresa, too, but mostly Newt.

 

He wonders why, sometimes. He has come to a conclusion. Maybe it is because he actually pulled the damn trigger. Maybe it is because Newt’s death was on his own hands. Maybe it is because his death was not necessary. But mostly, he guesses, it is because he has regrets. What could have been if he had the guts to maybe admit his feelings to Newt? What could have been if he just tied Newt up in the van, ignoring the fact that Newt begged for his death. What could have been?

 

With Chuck and Teresa, it was clear. Chuck was his best friend. And it was all that they could have. Friendship. He sacrificed himself for Thomas. It had broken Thomas’ heart, but Thomas knows for a fact that it was either this or his own blood that it spills—it was definite. There ain’t no could-have-beens; 

 

With Teresa, it was clear, too. Teresa was his best friend, and his would-be-girlfriend. But they tried, and it obviously did not work out. So it was kind of absolute, too, that they were meant to be purely friends. She sacrificed herself for Thomas, too. Thomas had not really let that sink in, but Thomas also knows that only one of them would survive.

 

But with Newt, it is different. There are so many could-have-beens. There are so many regrets. And his death—it was not necessary. They could have brought Newt with them. They could have done more experiments. Even if it means Thomas has to be the lab rat, then so be it. But, no, Thomas thought bitterly to himself, ”You just had to kill Newt, didn’t you?”

 

One morning, as always, Thomas is the first one to arrive at the breakfast table, Gally soon comes and sits on Thomas’s left. Minho, the almighty busy leader that he is, has some duties to attend to, and just cannot come as early. No one takes his seat anyways.

 

Except today.

 

Brenda sits down on Thomas’s right, ignoring the glances, or should I say, stares, people throw at her. A minute or so later, Minho walks in. He just kinda looks at her, with an I-am-pissed-but-I-covered-it-perfectly-with-my-stoic-face expression, but he ends up sitting across the table anyways, being the gentleman that he is.

 

When breakfast ends, Brenda drags Thomas towards one of the cliff, where they sit down and remain in awkward silence.

 

“Ugh dammit,” Brenda exclaims, “You have been avoiding me for weeks, Thomas. Why? Are you gonna make a move on me, finally?”

 

Thomas hears, but he does not listen.

 

“Thomas?”

 

Still no.

 

“Tom?”

 

Thomas is kind of angry now. That is Teresa’s name for him.

 

“ _Tommy_?”

 

Thomas is definitely absolutely furious now. That is Newt’s name for him.

 

“Do not call me that,” he says, trembling in rage.

 

“What?”

 

“ _Do not call me that_!” Thomas yells.

 

“Okay, alright. Chill.”

 

“Sorry, Brenda.”

 

“It’s okay,” Brenda says, kissing his cheek, then moving on to kiss him on the mouth.

 

Thomas dodges.

 

“Sorry, Brenda,” he stands up and leaves.

 

He was in love with Newt—still is, frankly. It is pathetic, really. Killing your best mate, then regretting it so much you cannot even breath without your heart aching, then rejecting a confession from the girl you kinda thought you were into, then crying your heart out in your room, behind locked doors.

 

With his eyes red and puffy, he stands up. No, he is not going to just sit here and waste the day. Well, more like, Brenda is probably gonna come after him so he can’t stay there.

 

He knocks on Minho’s door, for some reasons. He is not even sure why.

 

“Come in.”

 

Minho is the leader of Paradise. He probably has important business to attend to. But Thomas kind of just ignores it.

 

“Erm… Minho.”

 

“Thomas.”

 

“I’m sorry.”

 

“What for?”

 

“Killing Newt,” Thomas says, realising one moment later that, holy crap, he just said that.

 

“It’s okay.”

 

_What!?_

 

“Come again?”

 

“It’s alright.”

 

“You’re not mad at me?”

 

“I’m not mad at you for killing him. I am mad that I had to find out from Lawrence.”

 

“Sorry Min.”

 

“Don’t worry, Tom-boy.”

 

“Thanks Minho.”

 

“Thomas?” Minho says, “I think Newt loved you.”

 

Thomas does not say anything, but walks towards the door.

 

“Thomas,” Minho stops him, “I’d say it’s probably never gonna be okay. But we are as okay as we will ever be. Kay?”

 

“Kay.”

 

He walks mindlessly towards his room, and leaves again with his notebook and pen, heading towards the cliff.

 

_Dear Newt,_

 

_This is gonna be so awkward. I think I loved you—I still do. I love you as a friend, as a brother, of course. But I think I also love you as something more. I am sorry I never told you. I am sorry I have to wait ’til you’re gone to realise it. But every time I think about you, there’s this unsettling feeling, like somebody’s literally took a shovel and dug my heart out, clawing at it with talons so sharp they could cut glass, and then attaching it to my shoes so that every step I take, it hurts—like a son of a bitch. I really miss you. I love you. I owe you. I need you. I do not deserve you. But I want you to be here. Please Newt, let this be a dream. Let one of us wake up and somehow forget this. Newt, please come back._

 

_Love,_

_Tommy_

 

Thomas writes as tears fall, making the ink spread on the paper and making a mess. Well, that’s kind of what his life is now, is it not?

 

Suddenly, he feels warm, strong arms wrapping around his body.

 

“Thomas.”

 

It is Aris.

 

Thomas and Aris have never really been real friends. They are just kind of, like a business partner, Thomas guesses. Important to each other, but never emotionally.

 

“I am sorry for what happened with me and Teresa. I am sorry for, well, everything. I feel sorry for your loss.”

 

“Thanks, Aris,” and then it hits him, the realisation. Aris lost Rachel too. Thomas had Minho, and Teresa, and Chuck, and everyone back then in the Glade. But in his Glade, Aris was so, so alone, and only Rachel was there.

 

“I am sorry for your loss too.”

 

Aris raises an eyebrow.

 

“Erm.. Rachel? I guess it’s kinda my fault. I mean, the Maze, the WICKED experiment, everything.”

 

Aris swallowed, looking as if he’s trying to hold back the tears threatening to spill out of his eyes, “Yeah, it might have been old Thomas’ fault. But you’re a new Thomas now. See, it’s simple. You did something wrong. You admit it, and you improve, and remedy the status quo, and then it’s alright. And you aren’t even responsible for what the you before the Maze did.”

 

_“it doesn’t matter—any of if. The people before the Maze, they don’t even exist anymore. What does matter, is who we are now, and what we do, right now.” (Newt’s line in the movie)_

 

“Thanks, Aris,” Thomas says, after a moment of silence.

 

“Anytime.”

 

With that, he walks off.

 

And maybe Aris is right. The Thomas before the Maze is different from the Thomas during or after the Maze. Hell, even the Thomas one hour ago is different form the Thomas right now.

 

Time does change people, after all. Just look at Gally, will you? The fun Gally that Thomas never got to know. The brooding Gally that Thomas hated. The are-you-an-ally-or-are-you-an-enemy Gally that Thomas trusted anyways. And this nice, kind-hearted Gally that Thomas is grateful for.

 

Time does change people. And, maybe, just maybe, time heals people, too.

 

Thomas was heart-broken when he lost Chuck. But with time, he moved on. Maybe it would be the same with Newt? He never knows.

 

He sits there, writing letter after letter to Newt, apologising a million times, thanking him a million times. He writes with regret, mostly, but now, there is also this sweet, sweet feeling in his chest, just a little bit, as his chest is still heavy with grief, but still there. It’s like _hope_. Hope that one day, he will see Newt again, in the afterlife or whatever. Hope that maybe Newt is watching over them. Hope that maybe he will eventually live a happy and contented life despite what he’s been through. But also relief. Relief that he may not have to bear the guilt if he admits that he was wrong and improve. Relief that maybe, just perhaps, potentially, somehow Newt will forgive him one day, because time is miraculous, and will change people.

 

The sky is dark now. He sees stars now. He sees the Sirius, shining bright as usual. But tonight, he sees a sparkle, a gleam that might be just for him. It is Newt watching over him, he hopes.

 

Maybe he will just keep a little hope inside him. And he will be able to exercise it rightfully, one day.

 

There is no need to fear, darling.  There is no need to worry. They are never going to turn to dust. All they really need is, just, them. Don't be scared to close your eyes, love. You will see them in the sky. They will be the stars.

 

**Author's Note:**

> THANK YOU SO MUCH if you've read 'til the end. This honestly means so much to me. *Cyber kisses and hugs*
> 
> Anyways, inspired by We'll Be the Stars by Sabrina Carpenter, shamelessly copied a verse from FOOLS by Troye Sivan.
> 
> xoxo,  
> Elpidios


End file.
